The Paper Ch. 03

This chapter of the story deals strictly with Professor Jones. Like the first chapter it contains a good bit of imagination, things the character draws up in their own mind. I am putting these in italics to help clarify that fact. Hopefully they will come through in the final product this time. As a rule, my stories are meant to draw you in, tickle your imagination and make you a part of it. As such, I tend to leave a lot of descriptive details out. Professor Jones could easily be your next door neighbor, or the woman you saw at the grocery store.

She might be short, she might be tall, long dark hair or short blonde. She is as real as you want to make her. Please make her as real as you can. My story will reveal her inner self, the reality of what she thinks, what she feels and what she needs. I hope you enjoy this as much as I did.

Bridget Jones sat at her desk, staring at the pile of papers. She had already skimmed through most of them, and determined very few actually deserved reading. It was one thing to spew out some pornographic images that served as nothing more than male masturbation material. It was quite another to put together a comprehensive story that flowed with real to life characters and a story line that seemed believable.

That had been the whole point of using such a difficult subject. Of the twenty-six papers turned in, she judged over half to fall way short of the mark, and not worth a second glance. Of the rest there were maybe ten worth at least skimming through again, and maybe three that she actually would read. She took a sip of her wine, and sat back, staring out the window. Her husband, Mark, was in the back yard working on one of his projects, an old truck that was more rust than it was truck.

"Christ, he spends more time with that truck than he does with me." She thought, reaching out and grabbing one of the folders.

It wasn't always that way. Their first few years together were filled with sex, sometimes three or four times a day. But that had died off after Kevin was born. At first, she had lost interest, the pressure of raising a child, holding down a full time teaching position as well as working on her master degree ad left little time for anything else. By the time her hectic pace had slowed, and Kevin had grown, Mark no longer had the interest. Oh, they still had sex, once or twice a week, but it was almost mechanical, a short episode of inconvenience in a busy day. She missed the passion, the trembling desire.

Pulling her red pencil from behind her ear, she adjusted her glasses to sit more comfortably on her nose before leaning back and opening the folder. It was one of those she had already decided was not worth reading, so she skimmed through it and quickly made some comments as to the general nature of the paper. It was too bad that the student had put so little thought into it. It was obvious the author was disgusted with the subject of bondage, just by the hurried way they rushed through the actual scenes. She and Mark had tried it once. Bondage wasn't her thing, but she saw how some people could find it erotic.

Bridget quickly went through those that she had considered not worth reading, making what comments she deemed helpful. By the time she was done, she had finished her wine. After refilling her glass, she settled back into her chair with the three that she deemed worth closer scrutiny. She quickly put a face to each of the authors, as she scanned the pages one more time. All three were on the subject of incest, which didn't surprise her. The subject was probably the best to be able to create real to life characters. It's easy to breathe life into a brother or sister when you already have one. Plus the pitfalls and emotional traps can make such tales truly captivating. What did surprise her however, were the students, in particular, David Wilson.

Although his other papers had always been filled with detail, he tended to rush through them, always in a hurry to get from one bit of excitement to another. He never took the time to develop things, to flesh them out. In this one he had devoted three entire paragraphs to removing a bra. Even the few places that he seemed to rush, things melded well, as the characters seemed as rushed as the story did. She knew she could tear it apart grammatically, but that wasn't the point. This was a creative writing project, and she wanted to judge it as such.

By the time she started to read the shower scene, Bridget was beginning to feel a part of the story. She paused to take another sip of her wine and realized her glass was empty again. She filled it back up and began reading again. Without thinking, her hand drifted down between her legs, lightly caressing the swell of her womanhood. She felt she knew the woman in the story, felt her torment.

The soft click of the door and the gentle rush of cool air told her that she was being watched. She wanted to look over, to see her admirer. She knew who it was, who it had been for weeks. She was afraid, afraid of what might happen, but even more afraid that it might end. She leaned against the wall of the shower, her hands caressing her body, seeking satisfaction she had been denied for so long. She wanted to call out his name, to reassure him, to encourage him, to invite him in. But she was afraid, afraid that he wouldn't, that if she slid back the curtain and invited him in she would break the spell and he would flee. Instead, she just stood there, her fingers shaking as they caressed her flesh. Her admirer, just by his presence, fueled the fire within her, helping build the excitement until her legs trembled, threatening to buckle. She almost called out his name, as her body tensed, her orgasm washing through her.

Bridget read through the paper, every scene jumping to vivid life. She knew all of it, had lived through all of it. The quick glances half-caught, the shadow in the doorway watching her as she changed, the lingering hugs that seemed so much more than they should be, it was all real to her. It had been real, so very real. It still was. She closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair.

They were standing face to face. Her robe was hanging open, her bra and panties hiding little. She could almost feel the blazing desire within him as he stared at her, sending her own need bursting into flame. He stood there shaking, already a man, but still a frightened little boy. Even his fear mirrored her own. She wanted him, wanted him to want her. She tried to smile, but it felt awkward. She reached out, trying to reassure him as she lifted his hands to her chest.

Bridget jumped at the sound of the door opening. Her son, Kevin stood in the doorway.

"How's it going?" he asked, standing in the doorway.

"Oh, uhm, I'm fine." She replied, quickly pulling her hand away from her groin.

"God he looks good." She thought, staring at her son.

She knew he'd been peeking at her when she showered. And his casual brushes against her in the kitchen had become more daring lately. Just looking at him had her already moist pussy pulsing with desire. She wondered what he would do if she ...

She stood up, and looked over at her son. Watching his reaction she reached up and began unbuttoning her blouse. His eyes went wide, but to her relief he didn't bolt out the door. She could see her hand shaking as she held it out to him, urging him to her. Her voice cracked as she whispered his name, trying to encourage him. As their fingers touched she jumped, the feeling almost electric. She knew she should stop this insanity but she couldn't. She pulled his hand to her chest, guiding his fingers to the clasp on the front of her bra.

"Are you alright, mom?" Kevin said, staring at his mom as she sat in the chair.

"What? Oh, I'm fine." Bridget said, looking up at her son. "Did you need something?"

"I just wanted to let you know that I won't be home until late. Calc final is tomorrow, and I'm headed to study group."

"Oh, uhm, okay. I guess I'll see you in the morning then." Bridget said.

As he turned and walked out, Bridget looked over at her wine glass. It was almost empty again. Picking it up, she drained the contents and refilled it before reopening the paper and continuing reading.

It was almost midnight by the time Bridget had gotten through all the papers. At some point, she thought her husband had stopped in to let her know he was going to bed, but she wasn't sure. Not that it mattered, she didn't plan on going to bed any time soon. She stacked the folders up neatly on the corner of her desk then finished the last bit of wine in her glass. She picked up the bottle and was surprised to find it empty. Shaking her head, she put it back down and walked to the living room.

She wasn't sure how long she stood at the window staring into the darkness before the bright glare of headlights in the driveway announced that her son was home. It was like lightning striking her as an insane plan unfolded in her mind. She rushed down the hallway and into the bathroom, making sure she left the door partially open. Peeling off her clothes, she stood, waiting to hear the sound of the door opening before turning on the water and stepping into the shower. She left the shower door open just enough so she could just see through the bathroom door into the hallway, or more importantly, so whoever was in the hallway could just see into the shower.

Leaning against the shower wall, she closed her eyes, letting the hot water pelt against her skin, helping to build her already skyrocketing arousal. Her pubic hair was cut close and neatly trimmed, becoming almost invisible as the water soaked through it. Her legs were already trembling as she caressed herself, struggling to keep her movements slow and deliberate. She wanted to look out, to see if he was there yet, but she didn't dare. If he was there, if he saw her looking, she might frighten him off. Worse yet would be if he wasn't there, if he wasn't attracted to her at all. She didn't think she could handle that.

The sound was faint, barely audible over the sound of the water. She wasn't even sure she heard it, but it didn't matter. She closed her eyes tighter, her mind filling with images. He was there, standing at the door. His cock was out, pulsing angrily as he slowly stroked it. His eyes glued to the scene in front of him. Bridget wanted desperately for him to like what he saw, to want it, to want to be with her.

"Oh yes, that's so good." She thought, her mind begging him to move closer.

Her fingers took on a life of their own, working feverishly as her shaking legs threatened to give out. She was so close, so close. She just needed him to reach out, to touch her. Just a brief caress would be enough.

"Oh, Oh God! Kevin!" She whispered, her need consuming her. She collapsed to the shower floor, realizing too late that the words she had spoken in her mind had actually escaped her lips.

The quick footsteps and the door closing softly told her all she needed to know. She nearly burst into tears, as the realization that she had scared him off settled in. It was several minutes before she was able to lift herself up. She closed the shower door and stood underneath the spray, hoping the hot water would wash away the hurt and guilt. Her legs still trembled as she dropped her head, letting the water spray through her hair and run down across her chest.

"Who am I kidding?" she thought, shielding her eyes and looking down at her body.

She was almost forty-five. Her tits never were big, even after having Kevin. And time and gravity had taken their toll. Her stomach was almost flat, but not the smooth flatness of youth. Her ass, which had always been her best asset had even started to sag, the muscles no longer the toned smoothness of the past. There was nothing left that spoke of her youth, nothing left to attract a young man. Still, he was her son, and she loved him. She needed to fix this, to somehow make it right. She would go to him. She would apologize and try to explain. The sound of the door closing brought her back to reality.

"Was it him?" She thought hopefully. "He had second thoughts and returned. He's come for me."

She stood with her hand on the faucet, afraid to even breathe. She silently begged him to open the shower, to step in behind her and encircle her in his arms. She would give herself to him, right here, right now, to hell with the consequences.

Her heart sank as she saw the shadow pass across the glass door followed moments later by the sound of peeing.

"Are you alright?" Mark's voice crashed through the silence.

"Uhm, uhm, I'm fine." She managed to choke out, afraid her voice would betray her thoughts.

"Okay. I'll be gone for a couple of days. There's a guy in Toledo that has a transmission for the truck. I can get it for five hundred but I have to get it by Wednesday."

"Sure." She replied, uncertain whether she should be mad or excited. "When you leaving?"

"First thing in the morning. Are you coming to bed soon?"

"In a little bit. I still have some papers to grade."

"Okay. Could you flush the toilet when you get out?"

She didn't respond, as he walked out, leaving the door open when he did.

Bridget sat at her desk staring at the folders. She tried to blame them for the horrifying thoughts that had filled her head, but she knew that wasn't the reason. The fact that Kevin had grown into a handsome young man wasn't the reason either. She tried pushing the blame off on her neglecting husband, but that didn't stick. She knew the reason, knew it deep down, and slowly she admitted it. She was afraid, afraid of getting old; afraid of what she had missed, afraid that it was too late.

Looking over at the stack of papers she reached out and grabbed one, hoping to distract herself, to get something other than her son to ramble through her mind. She barely made it through the first two paragraphs before tossing it down, disgusted. Closing the paper, she scribbled a note across the front before tossing it aside and picking up another. It was no use. Each paper left her frustrated after the first few paragraphs. There was no passion, no emotion. She might as well have been reading stock reports. She struggled through, forcing herself to concentrate and try to give each report a fair review when all the while all she wanted was to toss them in the rubbish.

She kept glancing back at the one David had written, struggling with the desire to open it up, to let it carry her away. Every lousy paper only made the desire burn even stronger until she could no longer help herself. She picked it up, her fingers shaking as she opened it. At first, the awkward sentences distracted her, allowing her to remain objective. Slowly, as the pages flipped by, she found herself inserting her own words when the written ones seemed awkward. Once more, her hand drifted down, caressing between her legs as she was swallowed up by the passion in the story.

She scolded herself as she gripped the counter, trying to remain steady. He was her son, and she had no business feeling the way she did. It didn't matter. She couldn't help herself. She tried to stop, to shake the feelings from her head but it did no good. The fact that she had already crossed that line once, and allowed her need to control her was no excuse. She was the mother. It was her job to put an end to it, to stop it now.

He didn't say a word as he walked over to her, his muscles rippling with each step. She could see his hardness pressing against his shorts. She knew what he wanted, and she knew she had to find the strength to refuse him, to refuse her own desire. He smiled weakly as he touched her chin, his fingers so delicate she could hardly tell they were there. She needed to stop, to shout for him to leave her be, but her lips wouldn't form the words. His hand slid around her waist.

She reached for him, intending to push him away, to explain that what happened was a mistake, a mistake that they couldn't repeat. She had to stop this madness. He leaned in, kissing her neck as his hands slid slowly across her chest, easily unbuttoning her blouse. His hands quickly slipped inside as his mouth caressed her neck. His fingers massaged her breasts, the touch of his skin making her tremble.

"You should have worn a bra." She scolded herself, knowing full well why she hadn't.

Her blouse fell to the floor as he slowly kissed his way down across her chest. She could feel his fingers fumbling with her shorts. It was her last bastion of defense, and she watched in horror as he slowly slid them down her legs. She couldn't stop him now. She didn't even want to anymore.

Bridget knew it was her own fingers, but in her mind it was Kevin's tongue, caressing her clit, gently exploring her opening. She knew it was wrong, she knew she should stop, but she didn't want to. Her legs began to tremble, and she couldn't help herself. Closing her eyes, she pictured Kevin between her legs, his tongue caressing the very depths of her body. It was what she wanted, what she needed, what she was going to have.

"Oh God, Kevin." She whispered, as her pussy clenched at her fingers, fluids oozing from her opening.

Her legs began to tremble as her fingers took control, stroke by stroke building her need until it consumed her. She collapsed back in the chair, letting the paper fall from her hand. Her desire sated, but still lingering in the back of her mind. She knew what it was she wanted, what it was that would satisfy her, she just didn't dare admit it. Standing up, she slowly made her way to her bedroom, careful not to wake her husband.

Bridget woke to the sound of the front door slamming. Rolling onto her side she glanced out the window, just as Mark started his truck and sped out of the driveway. She vaguely remembered him saying something before he left, but she couldn't remember what it was. All she could remember was the dream that had repeated itself seemingly all night. She was about to get up when she heard the sound of the shower turning on. She leaned back, closing her eyes. Images of Kevin flashed through her head, images of him standing in the shower, his hard young body glistening with water. She wondered if he had left the door open for her, like she had for him. She wondered if she had the courage to do what she so desperately wanted him to do.

She didn't think about it, or second guess herself. Grabbing her robe, she stood up and slipped it on. She didn't bother to tie it, hoping if things went as planned she wouldn't be wearing it long. Stepping up to the bathroom door, she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. Her hand trembled as she reached out and grasped the knob.

Time seemed to stand still as she slowly opened the door and stepped into the bathroom. She paused, listening to the sound of the water splashing, the sound seeming to pulse in time to her own heartbeat. She took a step forward, struggling to control her breathing. She looked at the shower, her son's image barely recognizable through the glass. She pushed her robe from her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor as she reached out and grabbed the handle. Her mind screamed for her to stop this madness, but the desire burning inside ignored it. Biting her lip she slid the door open and stepped quickly inside, before her common sense could stop her.

"You're crazy." She thought to herself, but the images still lingered.

She glanced over at the nightstand, thinking of what lay in the top drawer. Before she could change her mind, her hand was reaching into the drawer, pulling out her trusty friend. Adjusting the speed to as low as possible, she kicked back the sheets. The smooth coolness of the vibrator made her shiver as she slowly caressed it across her stomach. She wanted to take her time, to really enjoy it, but she knew Kevin would be out of the shower soon. Closing her eyes, she slowly slid the vibrator downward, her hips bucking involuntarily as it brushed across her opening. Images of Kevin standing in the shower flashed through her head.